Dead Reckoning (32 page)

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Authors: Parkinson C. Northcote

BOOK: Dead Reckoning
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On the fourth day Delancey had the consolation of knowing that the
Minerva
was now provisioned for six months and in all respects ready for sea. On the fifth day he found what he was looking for. He and his party had climbed a minor hill feature, pushing breast-high through oleanders, shaded occasionally by jacarandas, battling through undergrowth and coming out finally on a flat and empty summit, lacking any sign of having ever been used for anything. Men threw themselves, panting, on the stony ground under the hot sun. Sevendale had a word with one of his men who said he was footsore.

Delancey focused his telescope on the distant
Minerva,
looking like a child's toy in a seaside pool. A lighter was just pulling away from her side and he reckoned that it would be the last one. Of the others, the first to recover was Ledingham who went to look at some wild flowers. A few minutes later he came running back to the party, calling out “I think I've seen it, sir!” Delancey followed where the boy led, expecting to have his attention drawn to something higher up the mountainside. But Ledingham ran to the edge of the plateau and pointed downwards.

There, perhaps three hundred feet below, stood a hut alongside a signal mast. They must have passed quite near it as they made their ascent. Its position had been chosen with great care, as was obvious. It was screened by trees on either side, making it visible from the sea on a given bearing but not from any other direction. It could not be seen from below, he guessed, and the mast was painted a dark colour to merge with a background of conifers. He had seen nothing of it from the harbour, nor would anyone see it from the town. It had been set up, he supposed,
while the French still had the island and set up, moreover, with a view to its use after the island had fallen. There must have been another place from which signals were sent to Bourbon, a station high up in the mountains. All these signal arrangements were masterly, he concluded, as he focused his telescope on the hut.

Even as he did so, a man emerged from the hut, also with a telescope, and placed the instrument on a tripod. He beckoned to the hut and was joined by another man, who presently hurried to fetch a third. Following the directions in which that telescope was pointed, he could see the glimmer of distant sails. Making the same discovery at the same instant, young Ledingham reported: “Two ships heading for Port Louis, sir.” Delancey cursed inwardly, realizing that from almost any other point, the ships would have been visible half an hour ago. They had been screened from him by another hill. He would now have to act at top speed and would probably be too late at that.

“Follow me!” he shouted to the others and led them in a breakneck descent of the hill. The scramble which followed was a nightmare. Choosing what seemed the easiest line, he was foiled by a patch of bog and had to turn in the other direction. This brought him into a farmyard where a small mongrel went into hysterics and pigsties seemed to block every exit. Climbing over a dry-stone wall, which largely fell down, brought them into a lane which led in the wrong direction.

To escape from this, Delancey broke through a bamboo hedge and ran through an orchard beyond which was an impenetrable clump of saplings. He followed these to the right and came to a path which at least led downhill. Here he paused so that his sweating followers might catch up with him. They did so, volleying blasphemy, and he set off again down the hillside. When
he paused again, on the banks of a dried-up stream, he realized that he had probably descended to the level of the signal hut and had no idea whether it lay to the left or right. He had to admit to himself that he was lost.

Sevendale, when he came up, was inclined to think that they should go to the left, Ledingham favoured the right, and the marine sergeant had no opinion on the subject. With time so pressing, Delancey divided his forces, sending Sevendale to the left with half the marines, he and Ledingham, with the sergeant and his coxswain, going to the right. Whichever party sighted the signal mast would fire three shots in the air.

Skirting a patch of cultivated ground, he came on a cottage from which an old woman rushed out indignantly, waving her stick at them. When she saw the redcoats she ceased cursing and tried to explain something as she pointed down the hillside. Her French patois was difficult to follow and Delancey could not at first make out what she was trying to say. He eventually understood that she thought they must be hunting a runaway slave—such hunts being a familiar sight—and that she had seen a stray Negro earlier in the day. Delancey explained, while his panting men caught up, that he was looking for a small hut with a flagpole. She was too obsessed with her story to take much notice of his. In his exasperation he lost what was normally a fair French accent and lapsed into the Guernsey patois he had known as a child. In some odd way this actually conveyed something to her. She nodded vigorously and pointed up the hillside, adding some confused advice as to the best route to follow. She had confirmed his worst fear, that he had descended too far, but on the whole confirmed Ledingham's sense of direction.

Thanking her, he turned right beyond her cottage and began to climb the hill again, being grateful for the shade of some trees, as
also for the wind which was now against him. Breasting a steeper slope, he presently heard, ahead of him and to his left, a sound which he could always recognize; the sound of signal flags snapping in the breeze. He paused then, gesturing to his men to keep silence and deploy. They had best advance in good order for the need for immediate haste had gone. Whatever they did, they had arrived too late.

The signal had been made but it was still desirable to catch the enemy agents. He therefore detached Ledingham with four marines to make a circling movement to the right, the sergeant with four more to circle left, while he himself with his coxswain and three marines gave the others a few minutes start and then went straight ahead. Drawing his own pistol, he told the marines to fix bayonets and advance. Moving up a final and steeper slope, he came out on a small level space with the mast in the centre and the hut just beyond. Three men were grouped round the telescope and were looking seawards. To the right of the hut Ledingham appeared, pistol in hand, two marines on either side of him. To the left the marine sergeant appeared behind the hut, which was then surrounded. The manoeuvre completed, Delancey moved quietly forward, with pistol levelled, and could now recognize Fabius as the centre man in the group. When within easy range, he halted and called out:

“Surrender! Lay down your arms. You are surrounded.”

Fabius whipped round in a second, reaching for his coat pocket, but paused again when he saw that Delancey's pistol was aimed at him. Looking round, he could see that his situation was hopeless, with fixed bayonets glittering on every side. He dropped his pistol on the ground and his two assistants did the same. Delancey's coxswain stepped forward, picked up the weapons, and searched the prisoners to ensure that they had no
others concealed. He relieved Fabius of a dagger and one of his henchmen gave up a pocket bludgeon. A fourth man had been disarmed in the hut and was brought out by the sergeant under guard. Ledingham went to the mast and hauled down the signal flags. After looking through the telescope on its tripod, he reported to Delancey that the ships had gone about and were crowding canvas. One was a frigate of the largest class and the other a small frigate or corvette.

Fabius looked exactly as he had done on the occasion of their previous meeting in Ireland, a fattish smooth-faced man with the air of an unfrocked priest. His voice was under perfect control and his tone was sarcastic.

“Ah, the good Captain Delancey, as zealous as ever in serving King George the Third—who has gone mad, by the way, or so I have been told. Well, we meet again and I am this time at more of a disadvantage. I must accept my fate as a prisoner-ofwar.”

“You are not a prisoner-of-war, Mr Fabius, if that is indeed your name. You are a civilian facing charges of treason, spying, torture, and murder.”

“And what evidence have you? Gossip in Ireland but not a single witness? Suspicious circumstances in Borneo or Bourbon? The making of a signal in Mauritius? Come, sir, you can't be serious. Your case against me amounts to nothing and you know it. As for treason, how can you show that I am or have ever been a British subject? Bring me to trial and your case will be laughed out of court.”

“You forget, perhaps, that these underlings of yours may break under interrogation and betray you.”

“How can they betray me? They know nothing about me and three of them can prove that they have never been outside the
Ile de France. No, my friend, your case against me rests upon nothing.”

“So you think you will be acquitted and can return to France as an exchanged prisoner-of-war?”

“I am willing to make a bet on it.”

“But I am not, Mr Fabius. I now incline to think, however, that you are right. You will never stand trial. There is, as you say, a lack of evidence. Quite apart from that, I shall sail today and could not be present at your trial. Without my evidence, you might well avoid conviction on any serious charge. Nor can I spend any longer time on your case. So your argument leaves me with no alternative. You have reached the end of the road, Fabius, and it only remains to say good-bye.”

Contemptuous at first, Fabius had come to realize at last what Delancey intended. Desperate, he shouted, “And you call me a murderer!” before attempting to dash at his opponent. A shot rang out and the man collapsed in a bloodstained heap on the grass, shot through the heart. Delancey's pistol was smoking in his hand but he now returned it to his pocket. “Shot while attempting to escape,” he remarked briefly.

“And now we must return to our ship as quickly as possible. Sergeant, fire three shots in the air as a signal to Mr Sevendale. Remain here for half an hour, if need be, and tell him what has happened. Then make for the frigate at the double. We shall be sailing within the hour. Mr Ledingham, search the hut and collect any papers you may find there. Take them back to the ship—and quickly. Tanner, take charge of the three prisoners, tie their wrists behind their backs, and take two marines to escort them on board the
Minerva.
And hurry! Remainder, follow me!”

Picking up the dead man's pistol and searching him in vain
for documents, Delancey set off again down the hillside and now with even more haste. He and his companions had the slope in their favour and the wilder country gradually gave place to farmland and that to the outskirts of Port Louis.

Gasping and sweating, they hurried through the streets, stared at by the French inhabitants and jeered at by the children. When they came within sight of the harbour Delancey was still meaning to report to the Commodore's office but he saw now that there was no time for that. Against a contrary wind, Northmore had already warped the
Minerva
out of harbour, leaving only the launch behind at what had been the frigate's berth. With a final effort Delancey brought his party to the boat and scrambled aboard.

“Push off!” he ordered at once. “And row for dear life!” His marines looked at him with wonder, knowing that he had left so many on shore, but he had already thought how to rescue them. As they passed a storeship near the harbour mouth, he hailed the captain and asked him to send his boat for the remainder of his men. Ten minutes later Delancey was on his own quarter-deck, being greeted by a worried first lieutenant.

“Thank God you're here, sir!” said Northmore. “The signal was made for us to sail as soon as those French ships went about. It was repeated half an hour ago. So I began to warp out of harbour, wondering what to do if—anyway, I can't tell you what a relief it is to see you!”

“You did very well. Mr Northmore. Keep the launch in the water—we may need to send ashore—and let me know when the rest of the shore party comes aboard. I must write a letter to the Commodore. I'll be in my cabin for the next quarter of an hour. Tanner will bring three prisoners on board. You can enter them as landsmen volunteers.”

A minute later the captain's clerk was taking down a letter which was dictated at top speed.

Sir—I have the honour to report that the
Minerva
is about to make sail after the French ships which are still in sight from our foretopmast-head. Some members of the crew have still to join but should be on board very soon. I had Vice-Admiral Bertie's orders to sail for England as soon as my mission to the Seychelles had been accomplished and I venture to presume that these orders still hold good. It is my intention to overtake and engage these French men-ofwar. Having done so I shall proceed to England as ordered. If I am not authorized to do this you might be good enough to signify your disapproval by hoisting the negative and firing a gun. With the wind in this quarter I should still be in sight after you receive this. I have the honour to be, sir,

Your obedient servant,

Richard Delancey

Without pausing for a second he went on to add a personal letter which read:

Dear Commodore—When last we met you instructed me to find the enemy agent who signalled a warning to the previous group of French men-of-war. I am now able to report that I found him but not in time to prevent him repeating the trick. I arrived about twenty minutes after the signal had been made. The agent who once used the codename of Fabius was killed in attempting to escape. Three men with him be entered on board this ship. You will realize that time for me was short. Your signal for the
Minerva
to sail was made before I had found the men I had been looking for and it was all I could do to return on board before Northmore sailed without me! With such need for haste I could never have brought these men to trial or even left them under arrest. There was no time even to explain what their crime had been. Fabius solved a problem for me by his attempt to escape. Of the other three one may be an agent of some slight importance, perhaps from Bourbon. The other two are mere underlings, I think, recruited locally. Without any pretence of justice I have condemned them to serve as landsmen on board this frigate. There is no reason why you should have official knowledge of their fate. As regards Fabius however, someone must collect his body from the stricken field. Here again you need know nothing about it and I suggest that you use some local messenger to deliver the enclosed note to the military commandant. Allow me to thank you for your kindness and assure you that I shall overtake these French ships if it is humanly possible. I write myself

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